


Swedish Christmas Mischief

by Meilan_Firaga



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Fics - 2017 [1]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Some traditions require new blood every few years to keep the spirit alive.25 Days of Christmas Fics 2017 - Prompt 1 - Gavle Goat





	Swedish Christmas Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of my 2017 attempt (maybe this year will succeed!) at 25 Days of Christmas Fics.
> 
> Prompt 1: Gavle Goat

Natasha would be lying if she said that sneaking out of the Avengers facility in upstate New York hadn’t been simple. She would not be lying if she said the same thing about sneaking out Dr. Foster’s assistant without anyone asking questions. Darcy Lewis was easily the most in-demand human being to ever set foot in one of Stark’s facilities. She knew everyone’s coffee order, had every schedule memorized, kept every scientist fed, watered, and caffeinated, and she did it all with sass levels at one hundred percent at all times. Everyone loved her.

Which, of course, meant that every time she tried to leave the compound a slew of inquiries about where she was going and when she’d be back were bound to follow. Thankfully, Natasha had an ace in the hole in the form of Maria Hill. No one ever questioned a decision when Hill was involved. Her decisions were non-negotiable. Even to Tony Stark.

“One week. Christmas shopping in Europe with the girls. A treat for keeping your asses in line all year,” the former SHIELD Deputy Director insisted when Stark made to argue.

“How is it a girls trip if you’re not taking Pep and Dr. Foster?”

“Taking Jane away from her work would be a punishment and you know it. Pepper declined the invitation.”

Tony, of course, pouted and dragged out the argument for something like twenty minutes. Hill never raised her voice. She never put any more inflection in her tone than she’d use to comment on a stack of paperwork. In the end Maria, Natasha, and Darcy flew to Paris on Stark’s private jet. They spent the hours crossing the ocean sipping champagne, nibbling high priced chocolates, painting their nails, and talking about all the things they were going to pick up with the credit card Tony had chucked at Maria’s head with the insistence that they should all buy something nice for themselves on him. Really, Maria Hill was the best agent Natasha had ever had the pleasure of working with.

Of course, when they got to Paris they didn’t even pause for pastries. They ditched Stark’s pilot before they were even halfway through the airport, ducking among the holiday tourists and slipping out to the curb in record time. Natasha secured a cab while Darcy tapped out an alert text on a burner phone Hill had bought back in New York. Within the hour they were on a train to Berlin. Halfway there the trio scrambled onto the roof of a baggage car and climbed a wildly swinging rope into the cloaked quinjet pacing the train.

“Not that this isn’t a blast,” Darcy panted as she let herself be hauled up the last few feet of the rope by a dark-haired guy she didn’t recognize. Through the archway to the cockpit she could see Clint Barton strapped in the pilot’s chair, the Arms That Inspired Original Sin tense and corded as he kept the quinjet steady in line with the train. She settled on the floor against one of the walls. “Because it totally is. Ten out of ten would do spy shit again, but when do I get to know exactly what it is we’re doing?”

“I’m with the cute chick in the glasses,” Unfamiliar Dude (she had to call him something, after all) said as he flopped down beside Darcy while Maria hauled herself through the hatch. “Not that this isn’t super fun, Hawkeye, because you know I’m all about the covert and badass but--oh, holy fuck you’re Black Widow.” Natasha had popped her head up through the hatch, effectively rendering Unfamiliar Dude a blubbering fangirl. “Oh my god you have no idea what an honor it is to finally formally meet you and I don’t remember if I hit you during that whole airport thing but if I did I’m totally sorry and I was the guy that turned into the super big guy and I think that might have been four sentences at once. Yeah. Shutting up now.”

“The blabbermouth is Scott Lang,” Clint called from the cockpit. “Everybody in? When I get us on the way and set the autopilot we can have story time.”

Motivated by the promise of information, Darcy hauled the rope in and shut the hatch in record time the very instant that Natasha was all the way through. As promised, once Clint had pulled them up above the clouds and engaged the quinjet’s autopilot he made his way back into the bay where they’d all gotten through introductions and made themselves comfortable. He flopped to the floor in the midst of them, pillowing his head on his hands and crossing one leg over the other. “Alright, Nat. Me, you, or Maria for storyteller?”

“Not it,” Maria snapped before Natasha could answer. Or, not answer. The redhead didn’t bother with a response, instead arching an eyebrow in her fugitive friend’s direction.

Clint continued without looking at either of them. “Right. Me. So.” He rolled up to a seated position, folding his legs into something that might have been a yoga pose if he’d had more finesse. “The name of the game is holiday mischief. Have you guys ever heard of the Gavle Goat?”

While Scott shook his head in the negative, Darcy let out a dramatic groan. “The great big straw bovidae in Sweden?” she clarified, turning her gaze from Clint to Natasha to Maria with a growing sense of dread. “The one that someone has managed to in some way destroy nearly every year since the late 1960s? That Gavle Goat?”

“The very same!” Clint confirmed with all the chipperness of a kindergarten teacher. “Gold star for Lewis!” He rubbed his hands together in glee. “We’ve been on that goat for years. Got one of the best track records for its demise.”

“Wait,” Scott interrupted, holding up his hands. “Just to clarify: We who are fugitives from pretty much the world stole the quinjet that Captain America has christened ‘Peggy” and are coming out of hiding to destroy a big goat made of hay?”

“That sums it up fairly well,” Maria agreed. “Upset?”

“Hell no. Being in hiding is boring. Just want to make sure I have all the facts straight.”

Clint shrugged. “I keep trying to retire and Maria never knows where she’s going to be, so we figured we needed some new blood in on the tradition. After talking it over with Natasha, we all agreed that you two are the best fit for our goat-slaughtering Christmas club.”

Darcy, meanwhile, was tapping away on her tablet screen. After a moment, she laid the tablet down on the floor where everyone could see it. A livestream of the goat at its home in Sweden was playing. “So,” she said with a smirk, pushing her glasses up on her nose, “what’s the plan?”

 

**~*~*~*~**

 

Twenty-six hours, two cases of energy drinks, eighteen gallons of petrol, and four detours later the five mischief makers tumbled through the top story balcony doors of a safehouse in Stockholm. They were all breathless, covered in soot, and giggling like a pack of teenagers. Scott secured the door behind them and they all sank to the floor, laughing like loons. After several long moments, Natasha finally managed to pant out an observation.

“That was almost as great as the time we tried to airlift it out with that stolen helicopter,” she wheezed.

“You tried to steal it!?” Darcy cried, doubling over with renewed mirth.

“It was Clint’s idea!” Maria accused, nudging the archer with a booted foot. Her hair was falling out of its severe bun, several strands framing her face.

Clint pouted. “You thought that was a great idea!” He scrubbed a hand over his head, making several tufts of hair stick up at awkward angles. “I really didn’t think they’d turn down a bribe like that. It would have been more than they were being paid to guard the damn thing.”  
  
“It was still under ten grand, you idiot,” Natasha insisted. “You should have gone higher or let me handle the guards.”

“Maybe I wanted to try being the flirty one for a change.”  
  
“You were wearing galoshes and McClane’s Christmas sweater.”

“They could have been into it!”

“There was a tutu.”

“Uh, guys?” They all turned to Scott at the sound of his exaggerated whisper. “Was this safehouse supposed to be empty? Because I can hear noises downstairs and something smells an awful lot like deliciously roasting poultry.”

Waving a hand, Maria shook her head. “Don’t worry. That’s the next best part of this little tradition. All the former goat hunters wait at the safehouse and get a late dinner ready.”

“All?” Darcy asked, one eyebrow arching over her glasses. “So, a.) How long has this been going on? And b.) Who are we about to have dinner with?” They all picked themselves up from the floor and began to make their way out to hall.

“There should only be three downstairs,” Natasha assured them. “S.H.I.E.L.D. people didn’t get in on the goat burning until the mid nineties.” She, Clint, and Maria led them down the stairs and into a warmly lit living room. Through an archway they could see a dining table laid out with a plethora of food and surrounded by eight chairs. A bald man was sitting to one side of the head of the table, chain smoking in a dingy white undershirt. He quirked an eyebrow at them and shook his head with a faint laugh. On the other side of the head seat, Phil Coulson didn’t even look up from his newspaper.

From what could be assumed to be the kitchen, a stern voice shouted. “I know you don’t think your filthy asses are sitting down to dinner without washing your hands.”

“Is that Captain Eyepatch?” Darcy asked, incredulity in her voice.

“Yep,” Clint confirmed, waving for them to follow him back down another hall. “Bathroom’s this way. So, the whole thing started right after Fury became Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. with him, Coulson, and that other guy in there, John McClane, who’s a New York cop they were buddies with…”

**Author's Note:**

> Personal headcanon: Zeus from Die Hard With A Vengeance was Fury’s last undercover op before becoming Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Shortly thereafter, he tried to recruit John McClane and was laughed out of the little Chinatown restaurant they were in. Now they get together and trade war stories of the stupid shit they put up with on the daily. Nope, don’t care if the timeline is off. I’m here for it.


End file.
